"Transfer it to my name?" York instinctively furrowed his brows, looking at Archbishop George's calm face, surprised that this was related to him.
Given his current status, he indeed qualified to inherit any diocese, but he didn't have the time to manage the affairs of one.
As he had mentioned before, he valued his freedom and disliked being tied to any one place.
And managing a diocese as large as a country would undoubtedly be demanding. He preferred traveling around; with his status, he lacked neither power nor wealth.
"I refuse," York said flatly to Archbishop George, who seemed unfazed by the refusal.
"You're still as lazy as ever, no change at all," Archbishop George said somewhat exasperatedly.
York chuckled. "Archbishop, if I changed, then I wouldn't be myself."
Archbishop George sighed. "So how could I not be prepared?"
York narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You should know how tremendous the resources of a diocese are," Archbishop George stated matter-of-factly.
York nodded in agreement. In this world, while clergy might sacrifice their lives for their followers or justice, they were still human with desires and emotions.
"Many would fight over it," York remarked.
"I'm transferring the Norwegian Diocese to you, but it won't affect your freedom," Archbishop George explained. "You can appoint your people to manage it, or my assistants can help. So, transferring it to you doesn't constrain your movements. Think of it, York, as having an extra house where others can help you manage it."
At this, Archbishop George looked at York. "I've already submitted the proposal. You can think it over for a few more days before you refuse."
Faced with someone eagerly offering such a gift, especially someone who had previously been at odds with him, York was indeed caught off guard.
"Why would you do this, Archbishop George?" York asked, genuinely puzzled.
Archbishop George did not immediately reply. He turned away his gaze, looked at the image of Christ, and made the sign of the cross, his expression serene.
"It's merely a transition of the old and new, York."
With that, Archbishop George got up, turned back to look at the silent York, deep in thought, and left him with one final comment.
"I simply want to find the most suitable person for the diocese I've dedicated my life to."
The sound of footsteps echoed as the old man walked towards the depths of the church.
York remained seated, watching Archbishop George leave. As the archbishop disappeared from view, York shook his head.
He felt there was something off about this.
"It always feels like something is being kept from me."
York thought hard, feeling uneasy. He got up.
"I'll have Eileen look into it tomorrow."
—
Meanwhile,
As York sensed something amiss, in a majestic building adorned with Roman architecture far away, Bishop Cecil, clad in a red robe and black garments, was acknowledged with bows from the surrounding clergy as he pushed open the door before him.
Ignoring the room's lavish decorations, Cecil's eyes immediately landed on an elderly man with white hair sitting before a large floor-to-ceiling window, gazing quietly outside.
Cecil picked up a blanket from a chair and walked over to the old man, placing it gently on his knees.
"Cecil, is the meeting over?" the old man asked with a smile, his face radiating kindness, though to Cecil, his face shimmered with a holy light.
Cecil nodded, "Your Holiness, the proposals concerning the dioceses of Norway, Thailand, the Island, Argentina, Korea, and the Free Archdiocese have been preliminarily approved."
These dioceses were all places York had visited while dealing with world rifts as a bishop.
"Did they raise any objections?" Pope Gregory asked calmly.
"None," Cecil replied evenly.
"Nor dare they. By now, York is the chosen one."
Pope Gregory nodded in satisfaction, thinking of someone and smiling warmly, "I never thought this day would actually come, and just as I have awoken."
The old man's voice was tinged with emotion.
"This child has truly exceeded expectations. I thought he was merely qualified to succeed me, but he has performed remarkably."
Cecil took a deep breath, his voice vibrant, "They all see the possibility of ending the world rifts, otherwise the proposal wouldn't have passed. This is the best opportunity for unification."
Pope Gregory's eyes sparkled, his smile broad.
"What the popes before me failed to achieve now seems possible, a dazzling future indeed. York doesn't know about this yet, does he?"
Cecil shook his head, "He should be unaware. I've controlled all information channels, the sources of the news, and contained any leaks within a controlled scope, but—"
Cecil paused.
Pope Gregory blinked.
"Sister Eileen is quite astute; she
might have sensed it," Cecil said.
"Wonder if she'll mention it to York."
"Eileen?" Pope Gregory remembered the nun he had assigned but also said with a smile.
"Even if she knows, it doesn't matter. York is passive by nature; he has no grounds to refuse. We're just consolidating all the dioceses under his name, not asking him to manage them. He can go about as he pleases,
and wherever he wishes to travel. In the end, all the dioceses are his."
Thinking of this, Pope Gregory couldn't help but laugh.
"That means even if he knows and tries to threaten with leaving the church, the diocesan managers are still his; he can't change anything or stop fate's wheels. Even if he comes to me to complain or sulk, those dioceses are still in his name.
He might want to hold a meeting, pick new successors, sure, but we have the majority. We just refuse his proposal, and as long as we're here, he is the king of this world. Once we return to God's embrace, he won't be able to change much due to inertia."
Hearing this, Cecil nodded, also smiling. His Holiness truly understood York well, having perfectly manipulated the situation.
If they used to have a love-hate relationship with York, unable to do much, now they had turned the tables, letting York be the one who couldn't really act despite his feelings.
He was strong, solving one world rift every year, but would he really move against these old bones? Would that lazy yet sentimental young man bear to do so?
The two elderly men seemed to reach an understanding, sharing a knowing look and then bursting into hearty laughter.
The room filled with the joyous laughter of the two old men.
—
"Ugh, why do I still feel uneasy?" York got up from the bed, the uneasy feeling lingering ever since he returned from Saint Mary's Church.
"There's definitely some conspiracy I'm unaware of," York muttered to himself.
"And it even revolves around me."
For someone at his level, if there were maneuvers against him, he would naturally react.
Just as invoking a demon's true name might alert the demon, the saying goes: "When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you."
"Ugh!"
York inhaled sharply, immediately opened the control for his holographic map, precisely located Eileen's position, then got up and walked out, his hand stopping a figure eagerly rushing towards him.
Aretha's forehead was stopped by his hand, and she looked up at him, disappointed.
"Uncle York, you're awake?"
She had hoped to jump a few meters high and land on York to wake him up while he was still asleep.
York nodded, pressing down on Aretha's head, leading her to the living room.
At the dining table, John Wick and Hilary were already busy with something, eating their self-prepared breakfasts.
Their breakfasts were entirely different; John's was very simple, just a glass of milk and a piece of bread, while Hilary's was lavish, starting the day with a meaty meal.
When they saw him coming over with a sulky Aretha, they merely nodded slightly and greeted him.
"Bishop, good morning."
This was their team's typical morning routine, very natural and harmonious.
Of course, this was due to his maintenance, a deliberate effort, otherwise, according to those who liked rules, these deacons wouldn't have the right to sit at the table, let alone John Wick and Hilary's very casual attitudes.
He didn't like strict hierarchies but preferred an atmosphere of closeness and naturalness.
"Good morning."
York responded similarly, placing Aretha in a seat. In front of her, her breakfast was barely touched, consisting of cereal, bacon, eggs, toast, and more, a complete English style.
"Bishop, good morning," Eileen, who had gotten up when he came over, also greeted.
"Eileen, good morning."
York glanced at Eileen's breakfast, entirely green, a rich salad.
"Eileen, are you full eating these?"
York temporarily hid his concerns, pulled up a chair, and sat down as Eileen, who had just left her seat to fetch his breakfast, approached with a cup of oat milk and a plate of oatmeal porridge, fried eggs, and ham, placing it in front of him.
"Yeah."
Hearing Eileen's firm response, York could only accept it, but looking at Hanna, who was sound asleep in her room but had everything, he still told Eileen.
"Eat more meat; you're too thin."
"Alright, Bishop," but Eileen had her style, merely responding calmly and continuing with her 'grass'.
York sighed, picked up the oat milk and took a sip. As soon as he finished, Aretha's voice rang out.
"Uncle York! What about me?"
York glanced at
Aretha's breakfast, which had everything and in large portions, but seeing Aretha's hopeful eyes, he said.
"Yeah, eat more and grow taller."
The three deacons at the table looked at Aretha, who was nearly a head shorter, exchanging glances with slight smiles.
Feeling their gaze, Aretha rolled her eyes upwards and stuffed a piece of toast into her mouth, biting down hard, secretly deciding to eat more to grow taller.
"Bishop, I've finished eating. I'll go meet with the colleagues from the Norwegian Diocese and check the cars," John Wick stood up at that moment, bowing slightly.
"Yeah," York waved his hand indifferently. This was part of a monk's duties, and perhaps because of his past as an assassin, John Wick excelled at the work of a monk.
John nodded, taking his breakfast trash and leaving the seat.
Not long after, Hilary also picked up his tray and got up.
"Bishop, I'll go too."
York waved his hand again, waiting until Hilary left before spearing an egg with his fork and looking towards Eileen.
"Eileen, has there been anything going on with the church lately?"
Eileen paused, looking at her master. "What do you mean?"
"Anything concerning me," York said calmly.
Eileen hesitated, then nodded. "Bishop, there's been a rumor going around outside recently."
"What is it?" York continued eating quietly.
"The Papal seat," Eileen hinted cautiously.
"It's said that you're the church's designated next Pope."
Hearing this, the corners of York's mouth twitched, and his appetite vanished.
He was aware of this; the outside world was abuzz, and how could he not know? After all, every pope, including the one not yet awake, was tied to the world rifts, and he, the only one who could resolve these rifts, couldn't possibly avoid it.
Essentially, being linked to the world rifts meant being linked to the Papacy.
His attitude towards this was to let it come as it may; at the major council meeting a few years later, he would just cast a vote against it.
But this was definitely not the source of his unease.
"Is that all?" York set down his fork, his tone even.
Eileen nodded after thinking, then mentioned another matter: "There was a secret meeting held by the bishops at the headquarters yesterday. The exact topic is still unclear, but I think it might be related to you."
There it was.
York smiled wryly; it had to be something from the headquarters, explaining the familiar déjà vu.
"Did the old man wake up?"
___________________
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